


Ripe for the Picking

by cherie_and_her_flop_ficz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_and_her_flop_ficz/pseuds/cherie_and_her_flop_ficz
Summary: A misinterpreted interaction between Connie and Negan forces Daryl to acknowledge his feelings for her.
Relationships: Connie & Daryl Dixon, Connie/Daryl Dixon
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84





	Ripe for the Picking

The wind brushes against her cheek softly, pressing a long, cool kiss to her sun-warmed skin. Connie smiles into the earthly affection. She taps the young girl walking beside her and makes a motion with her hands. _Wind._ The girl repeats the movement and nods to indicate that it is saved to her growing ASL vocabulary.

Not long after her group's arrival to the gated community, a mother approached Connie asking if she would teach her daughter sign language. From a survival standpoint, the request made her heart flutter with hope—if she could teach this young girl, then maybe she could teach all of the children and in turn earn her group's rite of passage into the community after Magna's hiccup. From a personal standpoint, however, it made her spirit smile that a mother would want her child to be educated in the language. Connie assumed the role of instructor within moments.

Today is her first day being able to explore Alexandria's grounds. With so much happening with the skin freaks, a wanderlust stroll had been the last thing she could think about. Killing two birds with one stone, she is finally taking in the sum of her new surroundings whilst expanding the girl's outdoors vocabulary.

They pass along a street of homes, and Connie moves her hands respectively.

_House._

_Windows._

_Door. Open. Close._

_Roof._

_Garden._

Her student repeats each movement with big, permission-asking eyes. "Like this?" she demonstrates.

Connie can't help but to smile.

A half-hour into their trek, Connie thinks it's time for a quick refresher.

"What is … sun?" she signs. "Okay, how about door? … Neighbor? Flowers? … Roof?"

Connie watches proudly as the girl does not miss a single beat. She stops to observe a patch of growing tomatoes they come upon. The sight fills her with amazement, though almost everything she has seen inside the walls of Alexandria leaves her with the feeling of paradise. They have borders, security. They have a neighborhood with homes with pantries with canned goods. They have flourishing _crops_ , she observes, with no sickos to drag their rotten feet over and taint.

The redness of the tomatoes indicates that they are ripe for picking. A man is bent over in the garden, plucking them from their vines and plopping them into a basket.

Connie reaches out to tap her young company. _Harvest_ is at her fingertips, but her hand touches air and she turns to see the girl running the opposite direction. She watches in confusion as her frame disappears deeper and deeper into the road. She bites her lip, wondering maybe if the girl has a prior commitment. The kids do have other tasks and lessons here.

She turns back to the garden to see that the man has noticed her presence. A smirk brightens his previously-occupied expression, and he lifts himself from the ground whilst brushing dirt from his clothes.

Even without knowing she is deaf, he has faultless eye contact. "My, my, my, who might you be? I have _not_ seen you before, though," he leans closer and puts his hand alongside his mouth as if sharing a secret, "to be honest I haven't seen much of anybody around here these days. One of Rick's dick soldiers hiding you all for themselves?"

Connie is thoroughly confused, but the one thing clear about the exchange is that the man is flirting with her. She is stuck with how to react, but he is already reacting to himself. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Gosh, excuse the hell out of me. That's no way to talk to a lady, especially one that looks like you," he says. He plucks a round tomato out of the basket and catches it in his palm. He starts walking towards her with a swagger reminiscent of nights spent being hit on at bars. The adjacency earns a light laugh from her. It gives her a small taste of life before the disease, a savor that goes just as quickly as it comes yet she appreciates it all the same. "Please accept this tomato as an apology. I'm not supposed to be giving them away all willy-nilly, but shit, you're worth the trouble."

Only several feet away from her now, he extends the vegetable with a wink. Connie lifts a suspicious eyebrow at him, but her smile is thankful. She reaches out, but something flies between them before she can claim the pulpy offering.

The suddenness of it makes her flinch back—she is nearly _thrown_ back—and when she gathers herself, she finds the man tackled to the ground by Daryl.

She flinches again in shock. Before thinking, she is grabbing at his shoulders in an attempt to get him off of the man. She can see Daryl yelling, but she catches only pieces of his rage-colored words.

"—hell you're doing—"

"—talkin' ta her—"

"—ass back in the cell!"

Dog soon joins their circle of chaos, appearing out of nowhere and jumping at them from different angles. His bared teeth snap specifically at the harvester, she notes.

Passersby run forward and break up the fight before any serious harm can be dealt. She is surprised, though, to watch Daryl send a chunky punch to the man's mouth once they are on their feet. The man spins at the blow, but he is laughing in an almost maniacal way. She is sure insults are being slung back and forth. Her heart is racing at how quickly everything went down, pumped with too much energy to attempt to catch their words. A woman gets in her face to ask her what happened as Daryl and the weapon-armed man, Aaron, take the harvester away.

Connie shakes her head, eyes wide and childlike. She just watches on and shakes her head again because she honestly does not know.

The woman mouths something about Michonne probably going to need to see her about this, but she lets her go for now. Connie's heart drops to her stomach at the thought.

What if she ruined her group's chance to stay here? She rips her jacket off and ties it around her waist, suddenly so hot that her skin is stinging. She fans herself. She wonders what she can say to defend herself. A once-brisk investigative journalist—now scrambling for an alibi for an offense she didn't commit.

She does not know how long she has walked for when Daryl catches up to her. He grasps her shoulder and skirts himself in front of her. She shrugs him off to take her notepad and marker from her back pocket.

WHAT THE HELL?

Connie has found herself frustrated with Daryl in recent weeks—for being hesitant to let her tag along with him in search of the blonde boy, for being hesitant to follow her lead to the office building sanctuary. This time, she finds herself frustrated at his _lack_ of hesitation. A man passes her a tomato and he feels the need to tackle him to the ground? Connie knows the man said something about how he is not supposed to be giving them away, but the situation feels so unnecessarily blown out of proportion.

She doesn't refuse when Daryl reaches for the paper and marker himself. He scribbles two quick words.

BAD MAN, he shows her.

"Don't talk ta him, okay? I don't even wantcha gettin' too close."

Blinking rather erratically, she processes his words. She then points to herself, reaches her hand far above her height, and points to her temple. Though he is not well-versed in ASL, she makes clear what she is saying.

She is a grown woman and she can think for herself.

"It's not about that," he persists, tapping the pen against his temple while thinking of what to write next.

Since they are right here in front of one another, since she can _feel_ the anger and frustration to make his point burning off of him, she decides that they can communicate like adults. She takes the notepad and marker from him, storing them into her back pocket again. She points from his eyes to hers as she once showed him before.

_What is it about then?_

Their eyes align in the midst of her confusion, his persistence. His strong regard loosens a notch upon aligning with hers. The temperature between them changes; the anger burning off of him simmers down to a still-heated glow, the situation no longer hot, but ambient. It is nowhere near comfortable, but it is more tolerable now. For a moment, she thinks his eyes fall to her mouth.

 _Oh_ , she thinks, suddenly stinging with heat again.

Oh.

And just as quickly as his eyes flit there, they move away. The side of his mouth does that thing it often reverts to, the thing that makes him look as if he is chewing an invisible grain.

It is after quick deliberation that he says, "Do whatever ya want, Connie," and leaves her in the same confused place she started.

.

.

.

"Do you wanna … talk about what happened?" Carol dances cautiously around the words, testing their waters. "I mean, you might as well since it's spreading like wildfire."

"Ain't nothin' ta talk about," Daryl grumbles, though his mind is still buzzing from the previous day's incident.

It keeps replaying in his mind, over and over and over again like that fucking song Dwight tortured him with at the Sanctuary. The smile Connie flashed Negan before making a move to accept his tomato. The scene made him sick to his stomach, and every remembrance of it—each one fresher, more detailed and taunting than the last—makes his insides churn again as if seeing it for the first time.

Fallen leaves of the forest floor rustle as he skids a rock. He has to get that shit out of his head. If he keeps on, his mind will continue tacking exaggerated add-ons. By tonight, he'll think he saw them lean forward to kiss. Still, no matter how hard he tries to steer from it, his mind makes that sharp U-turn right on back.

Why Negan? Why _that_ smile?

Daryl could almost recognize it as the same smile Connie gave him when they were at the chokepoint.

His fingers skid another rock, and it goes farther than the first.

"Talking about it might help," Carol continues. "Besides, this friendship thing is a two-way street, you know. If I can complain to you about how much sex I'm _not_ getting because of fair-planning … you can talk to me about why you beat Negan's face in for talking to Connie."

"Shouldn't that answer your own question?"

"Maybe," she shrugs. "Or maybe …"

Daryl knows that his longtime friend will state her opinion whether he prompts her for it or not. To lessen the blow, he looks over his shoulder at her. "Or maybe," he deadpans.

"Maybe it hit a nerve because Negan did in minutes what you haven't been able to do in weeks. What you've been suppressing."

A scoff sounds from his chest, scratchy and dismissive. Maybe he doesn't want Negan to interact with anyone other than his own dark shadow, yet alone an unknowing woman after years of being a wife-wrangling deviant. Though Daryl would be lying if he said he put much thought into any of that before.

The second he saw Negan with Connie, though, it felt as if all the man's sadistic wrongdoings came tumbling upon Daryl like a fierce, relentless rain. It soaked every inch of his body with the same hatred he felt in moments Negan controlled everything, the feeling of powerlessness so fresh and terrifying.

Man like that doesn't deserve to share the same air as Connie. Doesn't deserve to talk to her, to look at her, to feel the soft span of her skin while handing her a tomato.

"I'm not saying what you did was wrong," Carol resumes when the pause becomes too great. "I just wish you'd see why you really did it, is all."

With that, she rises from the log she sits on. She says something about needing to get back to the Kingdom before dark. He is thankful for the husband, the son, the _community_ she must return to. If it weren't for it, she would sit out here stripping him of his layers deep into the night, each one revealing more and more the emotions brought out of him by Connie.

Intrigue.

Appreciation.

Care.

Now, jealousy.

It is an oozing green thing that he hasn't felt in so long; the last time being when Paw declared Merle the bigger, better brother. Fuck, he feels childish.

Carol leaves him with, "Piece of advice, you should explain yourself sooner than later. I heard she was shook up by that fight. You wouldn't want that to grow into fear if what I think you feel for her is right."

Connie fearing anything, with her can-do attitude and slingshot ready to shoot down the world, is a comical thought. She was bold enough to try to pry him off Negan. That's a match most of Alexandria, the Hilltop and Kingdom wouldn't want to find themselves in the middle of. Still, he can't mistake the disbelief he saw drawn across her expression the moment before he and Aaron dragged Negan back to the cell. She was so wide-eyed and disoriented. Though it wasn't on purpose, he _had_ run into her just as hard as he did Negan. Almost knocked her slim self to the ground.

Maybe she is scared of him now. Maybe she hates him for acting out the way he did. If she knew why, she'd understand—probably gaze at him with those curious brown eyes and embrace him in a way he tries to stop imagining.

His mind is suddenly crowded with ways to get through to her about it. A thoughtful person he is not, though, and draws more blanks than a pistol when you need it most.

Dog comes padding up to him with the remnants of an old trap in his mouth.

"Good boy," Daryl says, running a grateful hand along his coat.

Even Dog seems to have better things to do, though. He savors the feel of his master's hand running along him for a few moments, then licks his hand and turns away. He pads the opposite direction, his woodland path heading straight for Alexandria. Daryl scoffs because he knows exactly where Dog is going, exactly _who_ he is going to.

And then it hits him.

"Dog!" Daryl whistles. "C'mere."

.

.

.

_What … are we going to … learn … today?_

Connie smiles, the beam reaching her eyes and making her spirit swell. She gives an impressed clap at her blossoming ASL student. She ushers her from her porch and onto the street, giving a friendly wave to the girl's mother who watches proudly from the doorframe.

The weather demands to be appreciated with its gleaming sun and accompanying cool breeze. Many of the children run in ditsy circles of one another, playing Tag, Hide and Go Seek, and racing games. Of-age Alexandrians carry out their assigned tasks. These range from guarding the perimeter of the community to separating rations.

Inspired, Connie takes the hand of her companion and spells VERBS onto her palm. She does a silly impression of a sprint and shows the hand movements to correlate. She does the same with _walk_ , _bend_ , _arrive_ , _carry_ …

The lesson is distracted by a tail-wagging Dog as he bounds over to them. The sight of him always brings her a bursting amount of joy. A healthy, happy dog this far into the decay of the world and she has gotten to play with him every day since her arrival here. However, she now finds herself somewhat wary of his presence, knowing he and Daryl are a package deal and never too far away from one another.

Is she ready to face him yet? The question should be, is _he_ ready to face _her_? The way he left her standing alone on the Alexandrian road did make her feel discarded. Especially after letting herself think for a second that _maybe_ he felt the same way she did in several moments they shared in the last few weeks …

Her apprehension is pushed aside by curiosity when Dog gets close enough for her to spot something in his mouth. A paper, she observes. His tail wags happily when she takes it from him. Her student pets him as she unfolds the note.

Blood rushes to her cheeks at the first word, at the first slanting of letter that indicates this message is from Daryl. Her nerves disallow her to perceive anything she reads the first few times she tries. When they finally still, the words exceed being worth the wait.

__

_Connie,_

_I acted like an asshole the other day. I hope ya ain't hurt from me running into ya. None of that was meant for ya._

__

_There's a lot you should know about that man you was talking to. I'd like to tell ya about some things. I'd like to hear some things about you in return. We can take Dog outside ASZ and get to understand each other a lil better if ya like. Tomorrow at noon?_

_P.S. Got a nice big tomato waitin for ya. All yours either way._

By the third read, she is certain her face is the color of a tomato. The letter is Daryl Dixon personified with the curt lines, improper tenses, and old town southern drawl. It has vulnerability, too—an ingredient she has not been able to acquire in the recipe of him. It makes her appreciative and oh-so giddy.

She takes a quick look around and finds him nowhere in sight. _Baby steps_ , she thinks with a smile, and takes her marker from where it sits in her shirt pocket.

She makes a small poll underneath his words. She draws an empty box with a NO beside it and an empty box with a smiley face. She folds the paper back into place once she has placed a huge check in the box next to the smiley face.

Her student rises from playing with Dog. The young girl looks from her to the paper, her to the paper. She then points to her instructor's burning cheeks and makes a circling motion. Connie feels every bit of exposed, but the feeling is too great for her to attempt to hide.

 _Blush_ , she signs.

 _Happy_ , too.

**Author's Note:**

> oh look, another fic of me writing 90% donnie pining for each other and 10% them actually interacting. I promise the next thing I write will be the other way around!


End file.
